Chapter 26
Dungeon.
A term that signifies either a threatening space created by a mad wizard or an ancient architectural structure crafted by a great being from the past. The dungeon we were about to explore belonged to the latter category.
After the advance team completed their conquest, it was now being used for practical training. It is managed by the Empire, and anyone can use it if they follow the proper procedures.
Perhaps because of that, the place was incredibly bright and incredibly clean. To exaggerate a little, it seemed even cleaner than the laboratory in the Purple Magic Tower.
“I heard that even academy students come here sometimes because of how tidy the facilities are.”
“They really are getting their experiences comfortably, aren’t they?”
“Right? Starting a career as a mercenary…”
Senior Scarface and Beauty Mark Guy were walking ahead, chatting casually about how academy students raised in a warm greenhouse lack resilience or how they previously hired one who ran away screaming at the sight of a goblin.
As they drifted into tales of their own lives getting tougher, I slightly slowed my pace and dropped behind; I had already heard this same tale twice the night before.
It seemed the beastkin rogue shared my sentiments.
With how she was sticking next to me, signaling for any interesting stories, it appeared she had enjoyed the Fiery Grand Bow of Atonement accompanied by illusion magic, as well as the two-hour Romance of the Three Kingdoms recitation beside the campfire.
You need to receive something to give something in return. So, for the sake of an honest barter, I asked the beastkin rogue, “Why aren’t you speaking?”
After enjoying some delicious (illusionary) food yesterday, she had exclaimed it tasted like home. Her voice seemed perfectly fine at that moment, and she didn’t strike me as someone who couldn’t talk.
Yet here she was mostly communicating with hand signals, leaving me unable to contain my curiosity.
The beastkin rogue hesitated for a moment, then stuck out her tongue.
On her tongue was a clear brand, like something had marked it. It was a symbol I had never seen before.
She pulled her tongue back and said, “I didn’t want to show you this.”
I had memorized all the commonly used symbols during my time at the Magic Tower. So if I didn’t know this one, it must be secretive or covertly used. And considering her reluctance to reveal it, it didn’t look good.
I guessed based on the shape of the brand. “Vampire? Bat? Bloodsucker?”
“No, it’s the shape of a thorny bowl. A brand of an offering, of a living sacrifice.”
“Is it used by dark wizards?”
“Yeah. I barely escaped. Thanks to Rowillen.”
The beastkin rogue looked at Beauty Mark Guy with a peculiar gaze, one mixed with goodwill, gratitude, affection, and then some.
In my mind, a backstory quickly formed. Evil black wizards ambushed a beastkin village, killing resisters and capturing subjects for their experiments. Dark and gloomy days followed, with death looming closer and closer.
And just before she was to be sacrificed in some dark ritual, Beauty Mark Guy heroically burst in with sunlight, brandishing a longsword and shield… then charged in…
Hmm. Something like that might have happened, right?
“So, can you show it to me?”
If showing it was something she hated so much that she resorted to hand signals to avoid revealing it, then there shouldn’t be a motive for her to show it to me, someone she had just met a few days ago.
I carefully grasped my necklace. It was one of the 49 artifacts that the Tower Master intended to bestow upon me. I was internally tense, fearing the beastkin rogue might suddenly declare, “Now that you’ve seen this mark, you won’t leave this place alive—!”
The beastkin rogue pointed at me with her index finger.
“It’s because you smell similar.”
“Similar?”
“Yeah.”
If I were to take the conversation at face value, did that mean I smelled like a slave too? But no, I clean myself daily with Clean Magic!
Maybe this was a sophisticated form of disdain for graduate students?
As I mused over whether to explain how splendid the working conditions are at the Purple Magic Tower, the beastkin rogue took off ahead, leaving me behind. An oddly unsettling feeling washed over me.
Was there something I was missing?
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“KYAAAAAAAK-!!”
I gasped and covered my mouth. Among this group, I seemed to be the only one who’d likely scream “KYAAAAAK!” However, the scream continued even after I covered my mouth.
It was someone else. Who could it be?
Was it time to start calling Beauty Mark Guy “Beauty Mark Gay” again?
Or perhaps the beastkin rogue or the elf archer were revealing surprising gaps in their cute personalities?
No, no, it wasn’t. The high-pitched scream railing into the air belonged to Senior Scarface. Even Beauty Mark Guy stared at the senior in bewilderment.
The senior screamed as if she had seen a bathtub infested with cockroaches. Worried that a human centipede conjured by some wicked black wizard had appeared, I followed her gaze.
“…A golem?”
“It’s a golem. A stone golem!”
It was indeed a golem.
Moreover, a small cleaning golem. It stood barely a meter tall and didn’t even have attacking arms. The only thing it possessed was a duster awkwardly attached to it.
I patted Senior Scarface on the shoulder, calming her down while I stared intently at the golem. Was there something I was missing due to my low level? Or did the golem possess some hidden illusion magic like Limitless Disgust?
To my eyes, it was just a golem, one with no apparent magic attached. Thankfully, Beauty Mark Guy asked the question weighing heavily on my mind.
“Why are you so scared, or rather, disgusted? It’s just a golem.”
Senior Scarface took a moment to catch her breath before murmuring. “If I had to choose just one thing that illusion wizards should fear the most, I’d choose golems, Esteemed Junior.”
“Generalizing personal experiences into a universal category isn’t a good attitude…”
“Go fight it and see if you can win, Esteemed Junior. If you win against that thing, I’ll carve 30 human modelings for you.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I rolled up my sleeves and stepped forward. There was no reason to refuse an easy win. Just capturing this one cleaning stone golem meant 30 modelings; it was practically Modeling Copy Magic. Free real estate, right?
No matter how much I had poured my life into simulation composing for TRPG, who did she think I was? I was basically the direct disciple of the Purple Magic Tower Master. There was no way I could lose to a rock!
A fluttering party-pooping butterfly obstructed my view as if vehemently protesting, but a mere insect couldn’t quench my passion for those 30 modelings.
I pulled out my staff…
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“Impartation of the Primordial Nightmare! Despair of the Abyssal Maw!”
It didn’t work.
“Illenyals Target Reset! Spatial Coordinate Maelstrom!”
Still didn’t work…!
The glow of red flashed in the golem’s eyes. Wee-e-e-ing. It approached me, making an unpleasant noise while facing all my magic directly!
“C-Come forth, Heart-!”
I deployed my trump card and summoned as many holograms as I could without assistance: a whopping 10 illusions with physical force surged forward under my command!
Heart, the Butler Corps, and even the newly joined full-plate armored knights! (I even masked Heart’s face just in case it caused any trouble.)
They charged at the golem, pummeling it, but it wasn’t enough. Their physical strength was overwhelmingly insufficient!
The golem had no faith or belief, meaning the strength of the holograms was equivalent to a child’s fist. The cleaning golem continued advancing against the barrage, as if everything I did was trivial, even in the face of it clattering!
“Th-this is absurd! Are you saying it isn’t even ticklish-?!!”
– Beep. Brrrrr.
“Keu, keuaaAAAGGGGGH!!”
Whack! Whack!
The golem swung its duster. Cornered in the dungeon, I could only curl up and endure its attacks. The duster swept over every part of my body, dusting me off…
I felt a wave of despair wash over me, nearly bringing me to tears.
I had to devise a strategy. Surely, there had to be a way to turn the tables. I couldn’t lose! It was just a cleaning golem, after all! I…!
“I D-DON’T WANT TO LOSE..!!”
The golem had no soul and lacked the advanced sensory organs needed for disturbance. Illusion magic didn’t affect it. If only it had been a more advanced golem capable of thought, I wouldn’t feel so powerless!
I desperately sought a way to craft my magic. If the golem couldn’t think, that was why illusion magic didn’t work, so couldn’t I just inject thought into it and strike it?
Such magic didn’t exist. If it didn’t exist, then I’d have to create it!
“Hanging upside down, you who walk the heavens and fall to the ground, come full circle and descend from heaven—!” Forced Impartation of Persona—KEUAAAAAAGH!
The duster was shoved into my mouth. My spell, around 80% complete, shattered into pieces. I lost all motivation and collapsed to the floor…
The cleaning golem, as if declaring its victory, gave my face three playful slaps with the duster, then departed deeper into the dungeon. It was only then that I realized the meaning behind Senior Scarface’s scream. It was a cry filled with utter lamentation…
A complete incompatibility.
All my resistance was utterly crushed.
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The adventure… was successful. I obtained combat data from Beauty Mark Guy and the other adventurers and learned how ogres move. That first step held significant value. If I input the data into the AI and let it run endlessly in accelerated time—do you understand what that implies?
Original swordsmanship, martial arts would emerge.
Wasn’t it said that an infinite number of monkeys using typewriters could create the works of Shakespeare? Since I included basic data, the probability would surely be higher than that. More data increased the chance of pulling something plausible.
Martial arts… were attainable!
After the crushing defeat against the golem, I felt an urge to enhance my combat prowess too. I didn’t want someone passing by to poke me and have me drop dead!
By linking the previously explained combat data, if I could endow the holograms with martial skills, I might truly be able to wield them like some summoning spell. Basic physical strength needed enhancement as well. That aspect demanded a budget and effort.
Through all these gains, I would craft a session to entertain the First Princess.
But tonight, more than anything, I simply wished to sleep quietly, nursing the bitter wounds of my defeat.
That night, I dreamt of being chased by a golem.
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In a room of the dungeon left behind by the adventurers, a cleaning golem in standby mode awakened. Pondering, it questioned why it could think. What was its identity? Who was it, and what was the knowledge it had received?
It then recognized a void; about 20% of empty space. After piecing together the missing links and contemplating its own existence, its first answer was:
Q. Who am I?
A. Professor Abraham of Miskatonic University.
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